Mirrored Yesterdays
by LoriP
Summary: How All Our Yesterdays might have played out in the savage Mirror, Mirror universe. Dark humor from 1982, when I was 16...but I think it's held up pretty well. Just for fun. COMPLETE.


MIRRORED YESTERDAYS

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[A peek into how "All Our Yesterdays" might have played out in the "Mirror, Mirror" universe, and the way the "alternate universe" series might have ended, one episode earlier than the "regular universe" series. Just for fun. Written in 1982, when I was a not-so-sweet16 years old, for the print zine "Riders to the Stars," edited by Cathy Brown.]

Fanfic only. No copyright infringement intended 

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"Will he live long?" asked Spock with undisguised anticipation, stroking his beard in thought and staring down at the woman who knelt in front of McCoy's body. The vial was still in her hand, open, causing a nauseating smell to permeate the air.

"I haven't seen one survive even a half an hour," Zarabeth said with an equally pleased expression. "He'll feel pain, pain like he's never known--and then it will be all over-for him. And to think--not an hour ago, he was the one screaming about leaving immediately. Now, he's the one who will never leave."

"I am pleased with your efficiency," Spock said, taking her face between his hands and drawing her close. She rubbed her face against his beard before they kissed. "I warned the doctor long ago that I would take my revenge one day--but he never believed I had the power. Until today, I never had the means."

She broke away and smiled at her fellow prisoner. In less than thirty minutes, there would not be a soul around to remind him that there had ever been an Empire, a portal, or that he had once belonged anywhere else but here, with her. "Let us celebrate your victory, and our new life, with a meal," she suggested. "And, after that ... well, we'll see."

"That sounds quite agreeable to me." Spock remained at McCoy's bedside and watched as she disappeared from view. Then he looked back down at his adversary.

Almost at once, McCoy stirred from his semi-conscious state. He started to wheeze slightly, then gasp for breath. His limbs struggled against nonexistent bonds as his icy eyes snapped open, bulging violently against the reddened sockets of a sweat-covered, and yet half-frozen face. His angry gaze bored accusingly into Spock's almost lackadaisical expression.

"Spock! Is that you or am I dreaming? What have you done to me? Or what have you let that woman..." He fell back against his pillow, slinging an arm across his sopping forehead. "Gods–the two of you have poisoned me, haven't you?"

"Yes." The Vulcan's voice was amused.

With an effort, McCoy reached out and grabbed the glossy front of Spock's uniform. "You'd choose that woman over the Empire? Traitor! Fool–what have you done?"

Spock irritably slapped his hand away. "There will not be an Empire much longer. You know as well as I do of the rebellion's inevitable victory. And I am betraying nothing--in another year, when I return, there will be only the ruins of what was an inadequate system to begin with–and hundreds of ruined worlds waiting for a new leader. I believe I shall fill that role quite comfortably. And then ... who knows what I can accomplish?"

"You've been threatening me for years, but I never thought you'd do it," McCoy hissed. "And I'd never have suspected you'd use one of your hussies to eliminate me. But you never were man enough to kill on your own, were you? You always enlisted some help–your bodyguards, some disposable member of the crew."

"To rule, Doctor, is to employ others to carry out those tasks which one considers too risky–or distasteful. I confess that I have searched for ways to be rid of you, Doctor–you were all that stood in my path to complete control of the Enterprise, perhaps the Federation. You always did side with the Captain. Fortunately, he is no longer a problem. Soon, you will not be, either." Smugly, he leaned back and folded his arms. "You may not have dared to do away with me directly, but you found other, more successful ways to quietly torment me. Do you think I have forgiven your attempt to blind me? To render me comatose after the brain surgery you so graciously performed upon me without anesthesia? Do you suppose I have forgotten the day you murdered my father with your supposedly foolproof open-heart surgery? And what of the dozens of crewmen you have tried to entice, or blackmail, into doing me personal harm?"

McCoy responded with a muffled curse.

"No more, Doctor. You shall never trouble me again. After the rebellion, no one will ever think to ask about your fate–and even if they do, what would be so unusual about a crew member being attacked and killed by one of the natives on a dying planet we were sent to plunder?"

The silence that stretched between them was broken only by the sound of McCoy's heart beginning to race–faster, and harder, by the second. Both of them heard it. Behind his beard, Spock's mouth curved into a smile.

McCoy managed to wrest himself onto his side. "Spock, wait! I'm sorry for the differences we've had in the past years, but that can change! You're right–it will be a whole new world out there, very soon. I can help you–I want to help you." He stopped suddenly, overcome by a violent coughing spell. Sweat poured from his skin as if he were being squeezed dry.

Desperately, he again lashed out at his adversary, this time catching him by the sleeve. He clung to the fabric desperately. "Help me," he rasped. "You've punished me enough! Get my-medikit–it's right over there. A serum; an anti-toxin–"

Spock watched him lose his voice and violently gasp for more air. A look of extreme, dignified amusement crossed his features. "Good-bye, Doctor," he said amiably, while McCoy's eyes rolled sightlessly upward. He collapsed back on the pillow, his teeth clenched around a half-uttered curse.

It only took a moment for Spock to be sure.

"Remarkably efficient," he murmured, then rose from McCoy's bedside and wandered off in search of his new mate. He found her waiting right outside the entrance to this part of the cavern, probably having listened to every word that had passed between the two men.

"The doctor is dead," Spock announced as he wrapped his arms around Zarabeth's waist. "I shall now dispose of the body."

She slid her own arms around his neck, nipped playfully at the side of his face, then sat herself back on her feet and pulled away.

"No, I'll do it myself. I know exactly what to do."

"Do you require my assistance?"

"I desire you, Spock–but not your mortuary skills. Why don't you just relax in the other room while I take care of everything? As you said, a great leader knows what tasks to delegate. I'll be right back, I promise."

"Very well." He did as she suggested, but what she had implied would be a short wait gradually stretched into a complete hour. And worse, he had no idea when she planned to fix their proposed supper. The events of the day had left him ravenous. A platter of gamy mammoth flesh sounded most welcome. Perhaps it would taste something like Sehlat, a delicacy he had not sampled since he'd left his native Vulcan. He hadn't been able to return in years, thinking it best to lay low after killing both T'Pring and Stonn in the unfortunate brawl that had erupted at his wedding. At least it had spared him the disgrace of an annulment. T'Pring was far too soft-spoken for his taste.

Finally, the time passed, and Zarabeth finally returned, carrying a huge handmade tray laden with meat and even a large bowl of broth, which she sat next to Spock. Then she handed him a clay bowl and settled down beside him.

"I trust the matter is concluded?"

"Yes. Is the food all right?"

"It is not as tender as I had hoped. I will look into expanding our menu as soon as possible."

"That's good. Actually, I think there are going to be a lot of changes around here starting now. Perhaps we should talk about it."

"Very well. What in particular did you wish to discuss?"

"For one thing–I heard what you told McCoy before he died. About going back later."

"That is not difficult to explain–my Empire, in my world, is rapidly crumbling. In another year or two, there will be nothing left but complete chaos throughout the galaxy. My plans is to adapt to this climate, ensure my continued existence–and, after the worst of the rebellion and mass assassinations are over, I will find a way to return, and perhaps gain power and leadership."

Well, no, Spock. I don't think that's the way I want it at all."

He looked up sharply. "Pardon me?"

"I said, you're not going anywhere. Since I cannot leave her, you cannot either. It's my decision now."

"I am afraid you."

"Did you really believe me a while back when I said I was sent here unjustly?" Zarabeth picked up a knife from the tray and ran it casually along the tips of her fingers. "If that weakling Zor Khan hadn't gotten rid of me, I would have been running the whole planet in less than a year. I've made the best of what I was given, but I do miss having others jump to do my bidding. Why don't we keep things simple? If you want to go on living comfortably and all in one piece, you're going to do what I say, when I say it, and without question. In return you can have all the food you need to stay alive, even pleasure if and when I feel like giving it to you. I've seen the portal open now and then–people from other times are still messing with it now and then–but you, Spock, are not to go near it. Do you understand?"

"What makes you think you can so easily gain my complete obedience? I never agreed to stay here for anyone's advantage but my own. And it is I who will make the decisions."

She laughed. "How did the meat taste, Spock? There's far too little around here to let anything go to waste. And do you know how rare it is that something good to eat wanders in here on its own? I've learned to make the most of even the boniest of creatures."

Spock's eyes widened, and he felt a distinct fullness deep in his throat

"Another thing–I do have other poisons hidden away in here–not all of them deadly. Some simply result in temporary paralysis, or simply great pain, the kind of agony that tends to make most people beg for death. Somehow, though, it never comes, since I have potions to prevent that, too."

She picked up her last chunk of meat and chewed it with great enjoyment. "I have to disagree. I don't find this too tough at all. I think I quite like it, in fact."

Spock stared at her with a mixture of resentment and a sneaking admiration he couldn't quite suppress.

"Remarkably efficient," he said again.

"Thank you. You know, your food is getting cold, but that's all right. There's more than enough for tomorrow. And, best of all, you'll still be here to share it with me."


End file.
